


In Your Dreams, Honey, In My Dreams, Baby

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Skinner takes care of an impediment to his love life in true X-Files style





	In Your Dreams, Honey, In My Dreams, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

In Your Dreams, Honey; In My Dreams, Baby by Holmes

22 September 1998  
"In Your Dreams, Honey; In My Dreams, Baby"   
by Holmes   
Category: Humor and Slash (mild)   
Summary: Skinner takes care of an impediment to his love life in true X-Files style.  
Rating and Warnings: R for Ridiculous, and for references to sexual intercourse, sexual innuendo, violence, profanity, naughtiness to the fifth season Scully, but no explicit sex. I apologize. I should have had explicit sex. Please don't kill me for the lack of explicit sex.  
Spoilers: Veiled References to Emily, Patient X, The Red and The Black, Never Again, Squeeze, Tooms, and GOD knows what else.  
Archive: ArchiveX  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, CC does. That's why they're called rent boys! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!! Also, the idea that Heitz Verber is Scully's true love is Livengoo's. This story was inspired by the Patient X review that she did on the Foxworld forum many months ago. This is an elaboration of my off-the-cuff response to it.  
On with the story...

* * *

In Your Dreams, Honey; In My Dreams, Baby  
by Holmes

A vicious rumor has come to my attention that I am considered a dry, humorless disciplinarian who wouldn't know romance if it bit him on his all too hard ass. Bullshit.

Although I suspect that this rumor was spread by a certain sulky agent who presumed that pouting would be enough to induce me to sign that 302 authorizing his investigation into the use of ectoplasm as lube in paranormal encounters of the perverted kind, he was not the only culprit engaged in spreading said rumor. A certain short-statured agent with a talent for eyeball rolling and lying to her superiors may have contributed a few flourishes, especially after I signed the 302 authorizing her partner's investigation into the use of paddles in exorcising demons from inappropriately tattooed red-heads. That this rumor of my putative dearth of romance would circulate in an office prone to belief in liver-sucking mutants who pop out of toilets to bite the asses of the unwary should not have surprised me. As A.D., such gullibility has served me well, so usually I choose to do nothing to dissuade the credulous. Nevertheless, let me state for my own private record, which I keep solely for my personal edification, that I have had a prophetic dream, which was of a romantic nature.

This prophetic dream occurred the night after I had listened with Agent Mulder to his cassette recording of Agent Scully's hypnotic regression session with Dr. Heitz Verber. During said session, she purported to recover memories of the 127th time that she had been abducted. Maybe it was the bottle of Chivas I had consumed, or maybe it was the breathy way she sobbed and screamed to Verber, "Oh my GOD! Oh my GOD! Oh my GOD!! YES! YES! YES!!! FILL ME WITH YOUR MOTHER SHIP!!!!" in a way that she never had for her partner if I read his face correctly, that influenced my dreams. The lately disputative nature of their relationship is well known at the bureau. Normally, I do not concern myself with the petty everyday squabbles of my agents unless it affects their work, but I felt a need to resolve this situation on a more than strictly professional level. Each time that Agent Scully had made a sarcastic comment, he'd come home in tears, which meant I wasn't getting any that night. 

Thanks to her, our sex stats were clearly below our twice a week bogie, considering that we had sex approximately .0235 times a month that year, which was clearly unacceptable. Okay, hell, more than likely, it was my inherent need to spike Mulder's well-rounded, firm, insubordinate ass that had me dreaming that Scully was marrying her hypnotherapist. I had to get her out of my love life. Occasionally, my dreams have been known to influence the future as well as predict it. I'm a firm believer in the principle that you have to give a little to get a little.

As soon as my head hit the pillow that night, my unconscious mind proceeded to go to the scene of the once and future wedding of one Dana Katherine Scully, Special Agent, and one Dr. Heitz Verber, hypnotherapist, at The Chapel of St Scullius the Obsessiva. The chapel was decorated in a festive manner traditional for such events. I swiftly surveyed the scene and determined that everything appeared to be in order. Flowers, candles, bored men checking their watches, sobbing women in ridiculous floppy hats, and body outlines in chalk were in evidence everywhere. It wasn't much different from the last funeral that I had attended, but then, Verber had to know what he was in for. 

I hesitated for a moment at the door, on the alert for the position which would give me the best strategical advantage during my stakeout of the nuptials, but Mrs. Scully saw me and beckoned to me to sit by her on the bride's side of the chapel, damn it. I felt like ten kinds of hypocrite but, considering that the hypnotherapist's family were all baying like bloodhounds on the groom's side, hypocrisy never looked better. She stood up and motioned for me to sit beside Bill Jr. So that was her game. I was to sit between the two of them. Clever bitch. Under any other circumstances, I would have gotten out of sitting by his ugly, sullen ass anyway that I could myself, but for now, I was trapped for the next hour. I swore a silent oath that Mulder was going to be on his knees for the rest of his life for this, and managed a polite nod to each of them. 

We turned our attention to the front of the chapel as the first notes of "You Can't Always Get What You Want" sounded from the pipe organ. If this were an official report, I would not have included my next observation, which will strike the trained observer as being of a dubious and unsubstantiated nature. For my own record, I wish to note that the organist appeared to be the late Agent Pendrell, who was more gleeful than I would have expected a dead man to be. I tried to signal to him, but the sounds of gasps filled my annoyed ears, and I felt compelled to turn around to find the source of my annoyance. 

The gasps were in response to My Nemesis herself. The guests were looking in misty-eyed, gape-mouthed fashion at the bride, who was resplendent in white lace. She was carrying her evidence bag bouquet in her tiny rubber-gloved hands, and on her tiny little feet were anklets, and patent leather Mary Janes. 

Bill Scully, Jr. expressed his mortification to me, because he just KNEW that the patent leather reflected everything up his little sister's dress, and he just KNEW that everyone knew EXACTLY what color of underwear she had on. He gave me a look that said, "Pity me." I gave him a look that said, "Fear me." He did, and thankfully shut the fuck up before I was forced to kill him. Mrs. Scully did not appear to notice her son's discomfort nor my displeasure, and tearfully began to tell me that she had had a precognitive dream about MY precognitive dream. Mulder noticed the shoes, though. Mulder was giving the bride away, but of course Mr. Porno Video Collection would notice the patent leather shoes. I could read his face and his dirty mind all too well. "Ah ha," he was thinking smugly, "green Wednesday panties, and this is Saturday. I wonder what Heitz is going to say when he sees THIS while he's inspecting her for mosquito bites tonight." 

When they got to the altar, I saw Mulder lean over to Heitz, and whisper "sucker" in Heitz' ear, then let out an evil laugh because THIS time he was ditching her for GOOD. 

The bride stamped her tiny little feet in frustration because she couldn't say, "I'm doing this all for YOU, Mulder" without pissing off Heitz, and well Mulder knew it. 

A wedding would not be a wedding without an emotional outburst of some sort, and I gritted my teeth in irritation as, on cue, five of the twelve Emily clone flower girls and 7 of the 9 Emily bridesmaids began to cry. I scowled at Bill Jr., who suddenly felt a pressing need to take them all outside, where they were all promptly abducted, to Mrs. Scully's vast relief. She confessed that she'd be happy if only she could persuade Melissa's ghost not to tattle the Emilys' whereabouts to Dana like that last disastrous time on Christmas Eve. 

Mrs. Scully sighed contentedly. Her life was going well now. She confessed to me that she was going to call Father Damien for an exorcism at the first opportunity. I had to nudge her from her woolgathering because the vows had just begun, and she gave me a sheepish look. I've never been one to hit a woman, but visual puns of this nature really piss me off, and barely I restrained myself. 

We both turned back to the altar, and I was startled to see that the priest presiding over this progressively surreal ceremony was one Father John Francis Xavier Mulcahy, of M*A*S*H 4077. Mrs. Scully saw my shock at this turn of events, and whispered a hurried explanation into my wondering ears. Apparently while trying to pull a drunk and disorderly Hawkeye Pierce off of a geisha girl, Father Mulcahy had fallen into the hot tub which had turned out to be a time portal for priests, and thus was transported into this dimension to perform the Wedding Ceremony. I wanted to know more, but she shushed me since the ceremony was about to begin. 

The good father was doing well, considering the circumstances. The resemblance of Scully's demeanor to Major Frank Burns' demeanor was disconcerting at first, but Father Mulcahy gamely pressed on, as he was used to cross dressers, and began the ceremony. The following is as close to a verbatim account of that ceremony as I can recall.

The priest smiled and raised his hands. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he said "we are gathered here today, to join a couple of volunteers from our audience together in holy wedlock. Let's give them all a hand for being such good sports, shall we?" We all did, as the happy couple grinned idiotically and took a bow.

After giving us time to calm down, and, professionally speaking, giving Mrs. Scully a first rate stern look for the ear-piercing, two-finger whistle she shrilled into my ear, the priest resumed the ceremony. "Heitz," he intoned, "do you take this woman, to be your exclusive hypnosis subject, forsaking the humiliation of all others, to humiliate her and her alone for the benefit of a cheap Las Vegas Lounge Room audience? 

"I do," Heitz said tenderly. 

Father Mulcahy turned to Dana and, repressing a shudder, said "And do you, Dana, promise to honor and obey all hypnotic suggestions of Heitz, no matter how ridiculous, and demeaning?" 

"I do," Dana said demurely. 

The good father turned to Frohicke and said, "Will the Watch Bearer please hand me the watch." 

Frohicke, tears running down his batrachian cheeks, forlornly took the gold watch with its long, gleaming chain off the velvet pillow and handed it to him. 

"Scully, keep your eye on the watch," the priest said as he made the watch swing back and forth in front of her eyes, "You are getting sleepy, Dana, your eyelids are getting heavier, heavier, and heavier. When you can no longer raise your eyelids you will be in a deep hypnotic trance. Can you raise your eyelids, Dana?" 

"No," Scully said in a dreamy voice. 

"Then, Mrs. Verber, " Father Mulcahy said, "you may say your wedding vows by clucking like a chicken." 

"Cluck, cluck, cluck," Scully said. 

Even Mulder found that a little cruel, especially coming from a priest, since Scully would never be able to lay eggs, but he laughed anyway, just like everyone else did, even me. 

Father Mulcahy, never one to let a laugh step on his lines, waited until the laughter died down. He raised his head to look out into the audience and said, "If there is any reason why this man and this chicken should not be joined in holy hypnogogy, speak now, or forever hold your peace." 

Suddenly Sheriff Jack from Chingaville stood up. "I know a DAMN good reason," Sheriff Jack yelled. 

I had not planned on taking extreme measures to influence the future, but this was too much for me. "Oh SHIT, NOOOOOOO, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I screamed as I pulled out my gun and shot Sheriff Jack right between the eyes. 

The discomfited father paused a bit, but he recovered swiftly, being used to working under fire. "Well," he said dryly, "how about anyone ELSE. Does anyone else know a good reason?" 

Mulder, bless his lusty, violent heart, took his cue from my lead. With wild, bulging eyes, he glared at the audience and waved his gun, whipping first one way, then the next. You know, just like he always does. We needn't have worried. Between the two of us, no one else was going to say anything. No one else was quite that stupid. 

Father Mulcahy sighed, "In that case, I pronounce you hypnotist and dumb cluck. You may now give the groom a peck, Mrs. Verber." 

And she did. 

"Ow, my eye," Heitz said, foreshadowing their first fight. 

They turned and walked back down the aisle. After the reception, where everybody scratched the floor to eat their pieces of wedding cake, it was time for the groom and his Chick to leave on their honeymoon. The Chick threw her evidence bag bouquet over her shoulder, and Frohicke caught it. Langley would no longer be lonely, rebound or not. 

As family and friends tossed nylon net bags filled with chicken feed at the groom and his suddenly hungry bride, Sheriff Jack came stumbling out of the church. "I STILL know a REASON; everyone LISTEN to me," he yelled. 

"I thought I told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Mulder and I screamed as we shot the rest of our clips into the interloper. 

This time Sheriff Jack hit the celestial road and never came back. This was just fine with everybody, even Heitz, who never wanted Fox to guard his hen house, but it was especially good for Mulder. "I'll have to find a way to thank Krycek for giving me this gun when he kissed me," Mulder purred to himself. This was okay by me, and I grabbed him and kissed his pouty lips to let him know it. After all, I was already dreaming of a way that Krycek could thank me for the way that Mulder would thank him.

At that moment, several thousand miles away in a sleazy Saint Petersburg hotel room, one Alexei P. Krycek started to have a precognitive wet dream... 

The End.


End file.
